


The Way Back

by RubyRollup



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyRollup/pseuds/RubyRollup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The past month of co-existence has brought me to my limit – the cold courtesy, the civil silence – and I am on the brink of a meltdown. This dressing room, which could be the setting for many romantic trysts, feels like a crypt. Instead of a smiling, loving, newly-wedded couple, the mirror in front of me reflects two strangers with their backs to each other."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The ice is broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love me or hate me, but spare me your indifference.”

Love and anger. Two of the most energy draining emotions humans have to experience, both pushing people to extremes.

I’d take them both any day, if it means I never have to deal with apathy. “Love me or hate me, but spare me your indifference.” Especially when it comes from someone who is supposed to be in love with you.

The past month of co-existence has brought me to my limit – the cold courtesy, the civil silence. I'm on the brink of a meltdown. This dressing room, which could have been a setting for many romantic trysts, feels like a crypt. Instead of a smiling, loving, newly-wedded couple, the mirror in front of me reflects two strangers with their backs to each other.

I button my shirt, but my eyes are trained on him – the dark blonde hair kissing his collar, the fabric stretching over his shoulders and hips. The hammering in my chest is so loud in my ears, I’m sure he can hear it too.

I love hard. And, as Anne Elliot phrased it, “when existence or when hope is gone”. Even in the face of his cold indifference, I want to be loved by and to love this man.

We turn simultaneously and for the first time in weeks we are close enough to share breath. Our gazes meet and hold for a fraction longer than has become normal for us, and I realize the reason he’s avoided looking at me; his eyes would have betrayed him. He is not as unaffected as I’d thought. The tiniest flicker of hope sparks in a corner of my heart. I am so gripped in his gaze, and only when I feel his fingers clamp over my wrist, do I realize that my arms have wrapped around him and my hands have hooked into the waistband of his trousers, pulling him to me.

“ _Please_ …” I plead, unshed tears choking my voice into a whisper.

“We’re going to be late.”

His reply breaks my resolve and the heartache silently spills over my cheeks.

Suddenly the ground disappears beneath my feet and all I feel are the cold press of the mirror against the backs of my thighs and warm lips crushing into mine. (It always amazes me how external stimuli can cause havoc to one’s insides.) I cannot breathe but I don’t want to let him go, and I cannot stifle the moan that escapes me as his lips leave mine and make their way over my jaw, down my neck, until I feel teeth yanking at my shirt buttons.

"Let me," I say, stilling his efforts gently with one hand, and undoing my buttons with the other. After freeing the last one I look up, and he captures my lips again, all but ripping the shirt from me. Without breaking contact, he turns and carries me and in a few moments my back hits the soft cotton sheets of our bed...

What feels like hours later, I am spent. After four weeks of avoiding even accidental physical contact, I relish my current position, pinned beneath him, his head resting on my chest and my hands in his hair. He still hasn't said more than five words to me all evening, but the hand gripping my waist speaks volumes. We have some ways to go, but we are further than we were yesterday. The ice is broken. I'll take it.


	2. Thawing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Last night we broke the ice. Today, it’s starting to melt." The morning after Chapter 1.

I’m greeted with the faint glow of my bedside lamp. My body is limp, and I am alone in our bed naked under the sheet. A flickering draws my attention to the pedestal next to my side of the bed, and when I grab my phone, I am surprised to discover that it is not yet midnight. I sink (heart and body) back into the mattress. Clearly, we still have a long way to go. Ignoring the melancholy that threatens to overwhelm me again, I check the message on my phone:

_Didn’t want to wake you but had to go – boss called to check where I was…_

Hope blooms again, ever so slightly, and, phone still in hand, sleep claims me once again.

A few hours later I am woken by the sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtain. My eyelids lift a crack, and the room looks pretty much the same as before. But something feels different. Warmth at my neck and back and a hand over my belly alerts me to what, and Tom’s wedding band catches my eye. I try (unsuccessfully) to slow my pulse, and slowly lift his hand so that I can turn to face him.

His eyes are still closed, breathing still even and slow, sleep softening the solemnity that I’d grown accustomed to recently. I don't want to stir from my position, and wish I could spend the whole day enveloped in his embrace (however unconscious it may be right now), but after a few minutes I drag myself from the bed. I don’t know what this means or how I’m supposed to react or how he will react, should he wake to find himself wrapped around me.

I tip-toe into the bedroom after my shower but find him awake, staring at the ceiling. Although last night marked a turning point for us, I’m still unsure of the direction we’ll take. I stick to the status quo we’ve developed over the last few weeks.

“Good morning,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral, “how did it go last night?”

I can feel his eyes on me, but am trying not to look (I don’t know if I’ll be able to hide from him).

“It was fine.”

I can’t look at him lying in the bed and quickly make my way to the closet. An overwhelming sense of self-consciousness washes over me as I remove my robe to dress. I feel like I might wilt under his scrutiny (the fact that just a few hours ago I was lying naked in his arms doesn’t seem to make me feel any more confident) and I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear him make his way to the bathroom.

The rest of the morning unfolds as has become routine…we both get ready for our work day, eat breakfast in silence, avoiding gazes and small talk. I finish before he does, and start gathering the dishes. I can feel his eyes on me again as I’m standing at the sink. Relief and disappointment wash over me simultaneously as I hear him get up and make his way to the door.

The rational part of my being knows that it will take time for us to get past whatever it is we need to get past. It also knows that we might never be able to be as we were before, but that there is the possibility of something better. We’re probably going to hurt each other more before we find our way out of this. We have to walk before we can run.

After last night, I want to sprint. And I’m trying to focus on all the positive things that have happened in the past twelve hours, instead of the fact that he left for work without a ‘good-bye’ or ‘enjoy your day’…so much so that I don’t immediately realise that he hasn’t left yet. His hand on my shoulder makes me drop the cup (fortunately, in a sink full of water).

“Did you for---“ I start to say, turning to face him, only to have his lips silence my query. Once we break apart, he doesn’t say a word…but I’m grateful this once because his kiss, and the gaze that lingers before he turns on his heel to leave, seem to have robbed me temporarily of the ability to form a thought or speak. I stand for a few minutes, touching my own lips as though he has just branded them.

Last night we broke the ice. Today, it’s starting to melt.


	3. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OFC remembers happier times...

Tom and I were together for two years before we got married. Our introduction was atypical – girls’ night at a bowling alley turned into a peculiar meeting between strangers; I had an embarrassing case of pins and needles in my arms and hands, resulting in laughing girlfriends and a gentleman with naughty blue eyes helping me to tie my bowling shoes.

He is so much more, as I came to know afterwards – kind and considerate and chivalrous, but not superficially or overbearingly so. Being a gentleman came to him as naturally as breathing – kindness radiated from within him. I noticed him because he was kind to me. Seeing him purposefully lose at bowling to an eighty year old man and wipe a little girl's tears with his shirt sleeves were what attracted me to him.

I can’t stand people who hover, maybe even more so than ones who don’t care at all. He realised early on that even though we were together, we were also two people with their own minds and interests. We could lean on each other when we needed to, but gave each other space for our individuality to thrive and flourish, and to this day, even though things may be strained right now, he remains the only one who was able to find the perfect balance between the two.

He is the only man I have ever met who didn’t mind that I spoke so much or so candidly (who was actually able to talk me under the table at times), and who understood that although my idea of romance was unconventional , it boiled down to one thing: uncontrived, sincere displays of love (as opposed to empty verbal expressions).

It has been two weeks since our…development. Tom is still _quiet_ – we talk, but it’s limited to daily pleasantries, and I’m still addressed by my name (I would do just about _anything_ to hear him use his pet names for me, or call me ‘darling’ again, in his way). In one respect, he is becoming warmer…for the last two weeks I’ve been greeted with kisses instead of words, and I’ve woken up every morning, spooned against his chest with his hand under my t-shirt, cradling my belly. But I’m no closer to figuring out why all this happened in the first place.

Each day is better than its predecessor. Doesn’t mean that I don’t wish things would move along faster.


	4. A Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are we even worth saving, if this is the life I have to look forward to?"

“I have to go away for a few days.”

Tom’s lying in between my thighs, his head resting on my torso, and I’m a little disappointed and confused that after the last hour, those are the first words he’s spoken. I remind myself to slow down, and try to neutralise my tone.

“Work again?” I ask, trying to squash the feeling that it might not be.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs against my belly. The sensation makes my insides tremble.

“When do you have to leave?”

“Tomorrow evening. I’ll leave straight from work, so that I don’t have to deal with traffic and miss the flight.”

“I can leave work a bit early and take you…”

“We’re due back late Friday night. I’ll take my car and leave it at the airport, so you won’t have to wait up to come get me.”

 _I’d wait up for you anyway_. “Okay.” I don’t say anymore because I’m not sure I can keep my voice steady.

The efforts of the last month has affected positive change, but there is still a part that Tom is keeping away from me. Even though he is where he is right now, I feel rejected. He lifts himself and moves over so that he’s lying next to me, and within a few minutes, his breathing slows. I cannot sleep, and turn over to look at him.

I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Brevity and caution battle for dominance within me – I want to break the silence, but can I do it at the risk of breaking us? Are we even worth saving, if this is the life I have to look forward to?

I don’t know if he’s simply forgotten or doesn’t care anymore, but I am going to have to face my doctor alone on Thursday. I roll over, facing away from him, and not ten seconds after I turn, he shifts closer and settles his hand on my belly again. Sometimes I wonder…would things have been different, had we not… Or was this inevitable, regardless? Have we run our course? Will bad news on Thursday be the final nail in the coffin of our marriage?

Tears roll silently onto my pillow, and an hour later, I finally drift off.


	5. Painful awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The tears continue to flow uninhibited over my cheeks but the sobs have subsided enough to let me speak."

Just after midnight I hear the groan of the garage door opening. The sick feeling I’ve had since yesterday afternoon won’t go away. In fact it’s getting worse as I sit here waiting for him to come into the room, my heart hammering with every step he takes climbing the stairs.

He pushes the door open as quietly as he can manage. His hair is messy, end of the day stubble on his chin, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and the top two shirt buttons undone. My heart feels like it is literally breaking as this may be the last time I my eyes can drink their fill of him. Confusion and panic marks his brow as he looks on the empty, perfectly made-up bed and the small suitcase at the foot of it on my side. Scanning the room, he finally locates me, sitting on one of the chairs by the window.

I have to steel myself against the relief that washes over his face, or else I won’t get through the conversation we’re about to have. For all of the physical intimacy we’ve shared these past few weeks, lust is the only emotion i've been able to stir in him – what I saw just now is probably only surprise at not finding me asleep.

He comes to stand in front of the chair opposite me, but doesn’t sit. And doesn’t say anything. I can feel his eyes focused on me.

It’s probably just a minute or so, but the silence feels like it’s stretching on forever.

“Did you have a good trip?” I am surprised at how calm I sound.

He doesn’t answer immediately and lowers himself into the chair, sitting forward and resting his arms on his knees. His gaze still hasn’t left me.

“It was fine.”

More silence. I’m about to break it but he beats me to it.

“Why are you still awake?”

I feel like I am being strangled by the lump in my throat. But for the first time in a long time, I manage to say exactly what I want and need to.

“Because I wanted to see you one last time…I wanted to say good-bye. And I wanted to apologise.”

I still can’t look at him, but I don’t need to because the stutter and his voice echoes the shock that must be on his face.

“Good-bye? Apologise?”

I bury my face in my hands and give in to the sobs and tears I’ve been trying to choke down. Tom comes to kneel in front of me and rests his hands on my knees, but instead of his touch soothing me (which I think it was meant to) it makes me cry even harder. And he lets me, still kneeling in front of me, only having gotten up to get the tissue box from the dresser.

The tears continue to flow uninhibited over my cheeks but the sobs have subsided enough to let me speak. I finally lift my head to look at him.

“I can’t do this anymore. As much as I love you, it’s not enough to carry us both. I can’t share a space and a life with a husband who won’t talk to me, who can barely look at me, who won’t share his happiness, successes, grief or troubles…who won’t help me through mine. I want us to fix this, but you’ve been so… The past couple of weeks gave me hope that we might move forward, but now… Maybe it’s too late now. I know how hard the miscarriage was on you. I’m so sorry that I lost our baby…I wish I could make my body listen to me but I can’t. I know how much you want to be a father, and when you meet someone who will be able to give you one, I know that you’re going to be an amazing one…”

“Marie, what are you saying?”

The panic is obvious now.

“My appointment with Dr Green was yesterday.”

His face fell on hearing the name of my gynaecologist. And I was spared the need to spell it out, as I watched awareness dawn in his features.

As if on cue, a car hoots outside. A glance out the window confirms that it is my best friend.

“That’s Ari.”

Sniffing, I cup his cheeks and tilt his face up to look at me. “I really am sorry. I hope that you’ll be able to forgive me one day,” I whisper, before pressing my lips to his one last time.


	6. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 from Tom's POV. Tom finally realizes the role he's played in the breakdown of his marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having some trouble moving forward with this - apologies for the delayed update. Thank you ever so much to all who left comments and kudos and who took the time to read!

( _Tom’s POV_ )

For the first time in months, I was happy to be going home. I’d probably find Marie asleep, and was looking forward to waking her with a kiss and keeping her awake (tomorrow being Saturday and all).

Tip-toeing into our room, I was surprised to find her in one of the chairs instead of the bed. Head bowed, I thought she may have fallen asleep waiting up for me. Reaching her, I was about to execute my plan to wake her when she spoke.

“Did you have a good trip?”

It took every ounce of control to keep myself composed and not react to the emptiness I heard in her voice, and silently prayed that the reasons weren’t sickness or death again. I sat down in the opposite chair.

“It was fine.”

Nothing. Not a word. I kept my gaze trained on her, trying to find something other than defeat on her face, and out of the corner of my eye I spot a suitcase at the foot of her side of our bed. That, combined with her tone, expression and state of dress, converted my excitement into anxiety.

“Why are you still awake?”

“Because I wanted to see you one last time…I wanted to say good-bye. And I wanted to apologise.”

“Good-bye? Apologise?”

Not what I was expecting. She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.

Marie is not emotionless, quite the opposite actually, but hardly ever expresses them with tears. It’s one of the things I love about her – women in my life have used tears against me mercilessly once they found out what a weakness it was – she never did. The only way I’d know that she had succumbed to them were puffy red eyes after, and I’ve only ever seen her cry twice – at her mother’s funeral, and again at her father’s. She didn’t even shed a single tear in front of me after learning that she’d lost the baby.

Her heart-wrenching sobs turned my anxiety into full-blown panic. She was shaking so violently, I couldn't even comfort her.

When she calmed down enough to speak, her words rendered me speechless. Every word were like pins pricking at my conscience. I was so wrapped up in my own grief, that I overlooked hers. Hers, that was most likely greater than mine, having had to endure the physical and mental trauma of a miscarriage. Instead of providing support and sharing our grief, I blamed her and pushed her away.

It broke her.

And just as I thought it could get no worse, I left her to face Dr Green alone. There was nothing I could say in defense of my actions, and here she was, defending them for me.

A car hooted outside.

She cupped my face, her hands damp from her own tears, and lifted my head.

“I hope that you’ll forgive me one day,” she whispered before pressing her lips to mine…a kiss filled with what she had already said – _I’m sorry, I love you, forgive me_.

***

I sat for hours in the same spot she left me – kneeling in front of her chair, until her feint scent had disappeared. My chest felt like lead and I was all but choking on my own unshed tears.

Maybe this is how we ended up here – because I couldn’t find a better way to express my sadness, or because I didn’t allow myself to express it weakly. My ‘strength’ broke my wife’s heart, and I was going to have to do everything to try and put it back together.

But first, I needed to get my shit straight.

I eventually fell asleep on her side of the bed.


	7. Ready to move on (?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marie needs to make some difficult decisions

When I walked out of this room a month prior, I felt like my ribcage would shatter from the pain it tried to contain.

Strange how taking care of oneself can bring on feelings of guilt, or even worse, regret. But I had to make decisions for myself. I know I needed to. I knew I would have to deal with this – I love Tom, after all, even now and, I fear, a part of me always will. And if I’m honest, a part of me hoped that he would try and stop me from leaving. Or come after me.

He did neither.

Instead of being thankful for the weekend and looking forward to sleeping in, to pancakes and warm, soapy bubbles, I spent last night wishing it was Sunday night, so that I could be blissfully focused on all of the crazy I’d have to deal with at work, instead of despairing over the tragedy that is my life. What’s the use of having a lie-in, or a decadent breakfast or a bath? I don’t want to do them, because for the first time in two years, I was going to have to do them alone.

I need to move on - Tom clearly has - and my mind was flooded with all of the things that would constitute moving on – getting a place of my own, changing my billing address to Ari’s until I have my own, the inevitable lawyer’s visit. But first I had to break the silence. Our first (text) conversation in a month consisted of thirty eight pedestrian words.

“ _Hi. Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be fetching some things in the morning.”_

 “ _Hey. What time will you be here?”_

_“Not sure. If you have to be somewhere, it’s fine. Will use my key.”_

_“Okay.”_

He wasn’t here when I arrived. Just as well. The more items I packed, the more I felt as though I would suffocate under the weight of the memories in each room. Every touch, every laugh, every kiss, every argument floated through my mind, as though they had all just happened. By the time I got to the bathroom, I couldn’t anymore. I sat on the edge of the tub and gave in to the inescapable tears. I wished I could hate him for reducing me to the weepy mess that I was, but I couldn’t even do that. The tears dried up eventually, but just when I thought I had no more left…

“Marie.”

I heard nothing…not a car door, not a gate, no footsteps. But that voice - a month did nothing to change the effect it has on me.

I wasn’t prepared to see him yet, and broke down again. He came closer and gathered me into his arms. He held me, let me soak his shirt, and when my legs could no longer support me, he carried me into the bedroom, set us both on the bed and let me cry some more. I don't know how long we lay like that (felt like hours to me), and I don't recall how I fell asleep. 

 

When I opened my eyes again, it was dark. My face felt swollen and hot, my throat thick and dry, and it took a few seconds for me to realise that I wasn’t in my room at Ari’s. I would have literally jumped off the bed had I not been caged by human arms. Tom loosened his hold a little and turned me to face him.

"I need my phone. Ari's probably ready to call the police."

"I called her after you fell asleep. Told her you'd see her tomorrow."

I shot right up. "Why??"

"Because, we need to talk."


	8. The First steps are always the hardest

_(Tom’s POV)_

“Time for talking is past, Tom.”

I was surprised that she let me touch her, much less hold her, when I came home. The minute she fell asleep, she relaxed so completely in my arms, and the longer she slept, the more hopeful I felt that we would be able to find our way out of this mess.

The finality of her tone scared me. When she turned away from me and started for the door…

“Marie, please,” I implored, grabbing her by the shoulders to turn her to face me.

“No,” she said, pulling away till there was a distance between us. “Your silence for the past few months has said more than enough. I’m not going to fight for something that you don’t want. I don’t have anything more to say.”

“Okay. Don’t say anything. But will you listen to me, at least? Please? If after this you still feel the same, then okay. But there are things I need to say to you, if you’ll let me.”

In the minute she took before answering, I managed to look at her properly for the first time since she left. A wave of guilt hit me afresh as I looked at the purple shadows under her eyes and her sagging skinny jeans…she must have lost something like ten pounds in the last month.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But not in here.” She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs.

I found her in the dining room. Of all the rooms in the house, this one was her least favourite. Not exactly a positive sign, but I tried to focus on the fact that she didn’t leave. I sat down in the chair opposite her. We needed to talk, and I needed the table between us so that something would stop me from carrying her back upstairs and burying myself in her.

For weeks I had this conversation played out in my head, but now that we were here, I found myself unable to start. But she sat and waited, wearing her anger and stubbornness like a suit of armour, covering all except her heavy heart. It sat in her eyes, now trained on me in expectation, and robbed them of their usual sparkle.  The knowledge that I was responsible for this made me physically sick.

“I went to see Dr Green.”

Her eyes widened.

“Very unlikely, but a small possibility of success under the right conditions?”

A sardonic laugh escaped from her lips. “Ah yes. I’ve been living in such a comfortable, calm environment, it would have happened eventually.” The anger had now seeped into her voice. “It would be foolish of you to rely on such a big what-if.” Had she been screaming, I would have felt hopeful. The quiet control scared me. “I am the one who had to physically go through a miscarriage. I am the one who has to deal with a dysfunctional uterus. I wanted to fall apart. I wanted to scream and cry, and I couldn’t. Because the one shoulder I needed couldn’t be there for me. Maybe I’d be willing try again someday…But I cannot deal with your reaction to yet another failed pregnancy. I can’t put myself through that again.”

Every word slashed at my conscience.

“I’m so sorry darling.” She flinched. “For everything you’ve had to endure because of me. For leaving you alone in your sadness and grief. For pushing you away when you wanted to help me with mine. I was a selfish prick. I know that an apology in no way makes up for the past few months. But I’m hoping…praying, that you’ll forgive me, and give me a chance to try.”

With a deep sigh, the fight went out of her.

“I know you mean every word you say…now. You’ll need to forgive me though, if I find them a little hard to believe after a month of complete silence. When it comes down to it, I don’t think I’ll be able to give you what you really want.”

She stood and walked out of the room towards the stairs.

Watching her walk away from me I knew: if she left this house for good, she’d take my heart with her.

~~~~~~~~~

_(Marie’s POV)_

_Dammit_.

I knew. The second he walked into the bathroom, I knew. I could hear his remorse, longing, love, guilt…I heard it all the second he said my name. I saw it in his eyes. I felt it in the way he held me. It broke me again, just when I thought it wasn’t possible to shatter any more. And when I woke up, it was still there.

I needed to get away from him, to put some distance between us. The more he spoke, the longer I stayed, the more I would soften.

But he wouldn’t let me leave.

He was getting to me without even trying.

And that made me mad as hell. I was letting his words affect me, when it would take a helluva lot more than that to even try and fix what broke between us. I’ll admit, Tom finally speaking is a step in the right direction. But just one step. He didn’t just break my heart. I felt used and then rejected. He broke my trust. It would be a lot harder to fix than my heart.

We needed to be prepared to face the harsh possibility that despite any love that may still linger, we may be broken beyond repair.

I calmed down enough to say, “When it comes down to it, I don’t think I’ll be able to give you what you really want.”

I needed to leave, and made my way upstairs to fetch what I managed to pack. Just as I hit the landing, Tom grabbed my hand and turned me to face him.

“N—“ I was about to protest, but he silenced me, covering my lips with his fingers and tugging me to sit down on the step.

“Please just let me finish,” he begged. I couldn’t say anything as his hand was still over my mouth, and the way he was gripping my hand said that he wasn’t going to let me go until he’d said what he needed to.

“Don’t do what I did. I froze you out. I snubbed your efforts to try and…to get…”

His hand dropped from my mouth, and took both of my hands in his, staring at them and squeezing, like he was trying to wring words from them. After a minute or so, he took a deep breath and looked up at me.

“I messed up…on such a monumental scale, and I don't think I'll ever figure out how or why. But I know I messed up. I’ve spent the last month trying to sort through my shit. There's a lot I need to work on and a lot of things I'm still figuring out...but the one thing I know for sure is that I need and want only you.”

Tom always knew when I was at odds with myself. He used to say that my body and face had so many tells, but only he was clever enough to pick up on them. At times, he knew what I was thinking before I could put them into words. Even at that moment, he knew, and continued without waiting for me to say something.

“I know they’re just words right now. But I am asking you, _begging_ you, to give me a chance to prove them.”

I looked down at our joined hands, my eye falling on the solitary twinkling coming from his hand. _Did he deserve the chance that he was asking for? Do I really want to risk the thread of sanity I’ve managed to scrape together over the last four weeks? I would be crazy to._ I needed to keep my composure, I needed to do what was best for me. And even though sincerity dripped from his lips and oozed out of him, I needed to accept the fact that however much I wanted him to be, Tom might not be what was best for me.

With all these thoughts swirling inside my head, I took a deep breath and answered.


	9. Back to basics

_(Tom’s POV)_

Life is many things. One thing it most certainly is not, is fair – else I would have gotten exactly what I deserved.

Six days ago, sitting on the steps of our home, I was certain I’d lost my wife. I was convinced she was going to walk out the front door of our home for good and not look back, even after all of my pleading, after letting her know that she was all I wanted or needed.

 _“I’ve waited for…what feels like a lifetime, for you to say this to me. And all I can think is_ ‘why now?’ _Through months of silence and rejection, I loved you. I still love you. My love for you has never been in question. But I have to love myself too. I have to do what’s best for me, and I don’t know if you are what’s best for me anymore.”_ As much as I didn’t want to admit it, she had a point. _“The past three months have been such a struggle, and I don’t know…I give you this chance and then? Have you wreck the tiny shred of sanity I’ve managed to scrape together this past month…I don’t know if I can or should take that risk.”_ Every word stabbed at my heart, true though they were. I didn’t know how, but I was going to have to learn to live without her.

I should have known better. Of all the people I have ever met, her heart was the biggest, and when I thought there was no more room in it for me…

 _“I know I’m going to regret it more though, if I don’t.”_ It took me a moment or two to hear what she was saying but when I did, a massive wave of relief propelled me into her arms. I’m not sure whether it was surprise or caution that kept her slightly frozen, but I did not care. I clung to her. There were no words that could adequately express my relief and gratitude in that moment, and I suppose I tried to express it through touch.

My second chance did come with some conditions. She’s still living at Ari’s, and will remain there until she is okay with moving back home, which I expected. The second condition I did not expect…and will be more challenging, because every time I see her, my first instinct is to drag her to the nearest bedroom.

But, I have no right to complain about life’s unfairness. Had life been fair, I would have been heading to an empty home. Instead, I get to romance my wife a second time.

 

The last time I was this nervously excited was the day Marie and I met. It was like her smile was a hand that reached through skin and bone and squeezed my heart. I haven’t seen that smile in so long (and yes, I do realise that it is my own fault), and step one of my plan to win her back was to make her smile at me like that again.

I could tell by the escaped wisps of hair, rolled up shirt sleeves and reading glasses still on her nose that it had been a helluva week. The tired, apologetic smile she was wearing, walking towards the car, was not quite like the one she gave me that day. It was having the same effect though.

As she reached the car, she opened the back door and deposited her things on the back seat before climbing into the front.

“Hey. Have you been waiting long?” she asked, strapping on her seatbelt.

“Hi. No, just a few minutes.” I was seriously regretting agreeing to condition number two, trying very hard to ignore the scent of her hair, and not to reach over and fasten the two undone buttons on her shirt. “Tough day?”

“Ugh, you know…one of those weeks. Very happy it’s Friday. How was your day?”

“Good. But I’m happy it’s Friday too.” I was failing at playing it cool.

She looked out her window, but not before I saw her cheeks redden and the corners of her mouth turn up. The mood in the car was strange - we weren't exactly strangers, but it was as though the past few months revealed things we didn't know about each other, and ourselves - we had to get to know each other again, and it was not as easy as the first time. We drove in silence for a few minutes before she broke it.

“Where are we going, by the way? Do we have time to swing by Ari’s so I can change?”

“We can if you really want to, but you’re dressed fine. I thought we could just do dinner, but first, a little stress-relief. And we’re almost there.” I wasn't completely confident in my choice of venue and activity. There was a very good chance it would blow up in my face. But it was too late to chicken out now.

“Which is where, exa---“ she started to ask before the question died on her lips as we pulled into the parking lot of our destination. She was still staring at the sign, a neon pin above the entrance, as we got out. I was staring at her, watching the memories brim over every lovely feature. It was like a magnet, drawing me closer, and only when her gaze shifted suddenly to me, did I realise that my fingers had laced themselves with hers.

I squeezed her hand, unable to utter a single word in that moment, bracing myself for her reaction.

She surprised me yet again by squeezing my hand back, before uttering with a giggle, “Hopefully, there will be no pins and needles this time."


	10. Small step or giant leap?

_(Marie’s POV)_

During the period that followed my decision to leave Tom, my biggest challenge was accepting that he no longer loved me. Right now, my biggest challenge is accepting that he still does.

It seems like such a long time ago, the day we first met. Come to think of it, we never went back to the bowling alley again (not on purpose, we just never did). As we drove into the parking lot, that ginormous neon bowling pin rendered me speechless (words I never imagined would leave my lips). I spent the entire week before our second first date wondering whether I’d made the right decision to give us another go, scared and curious at the same time. Of course there were things that needed to change, but I also didn’t want him to change who he was. What I love most about Tom is his subtle rebellion against convention, and that he gives me space to be myself. I don’t want him to start smothering me with superficial affection.

He didn’t. We bowled, ate, talked and laughed (no pins and needles). And in front of Ari’s house, he ended our evening perfectly – he didn’t walk me to the door, he didn’t try and kiss me; he just squeezed my hand and wished me a good night.

Since then, it’s been…amazing. We’ve agreed to see each other on weekends only, but every night my cell lights up with the same message: _“Hey beautiful. How was your day…?”_ As the days turned into weeks, texts turned into the occasional call before bed, with him somehow always knowing which I needed at the time. Whenever he did call, even when I was feeling really crap, he'd somehow find a way to make me feel tons lighter by the time he said goodnight - whether it was by letting me moan about work, or getting me to laugh at the antics they get up to at his work.

The one thing I was really anxious about was talking about the miscarriage. I didn't want us to ignore the elephant in the room, but I wasn't sure how we'd broach the subject. I almost died of shock when he called me to remind me about my follow-up visit with Dr Green (I didn't know they'd been chatting quite regularly). And on a Tuesday evening, with his usual message, he reminds me to take my meds because he knows I tend to forget when I work late. We may not have spoken about the miscarriage and its effects candidly, but I know he's aware of it and of the precautions I need to take to aid my recovery.

I worried for nothing. I wasn’t being smothered, not in the least. I was being treated with the greatest of care.

A few weeks after our first date, his work sent him away again. It was the first time he’d been away since I left but I’d be fetching him at the airport that Friday after work, and decided to surprise him with dinner at home.

I didn’t know if I was ready for us to be there alone again but we were going to have to take that step at some point, and if I’m honest, it was the only thing on my mind that whole week. Stepping over the threshold of our… _his_ house, was weird – everything was exactly as it was when I left and yet, it felt like I didn’t belong there anymore.

The only place that didn’t feel too weird was the kitchen. I tend to lose track of people and the time when I’m cooking or baking, and half-way through my prep I glanced at my phone to check the time, only to find it completely dead (and my power cord in the wall socket at Ari’s). The wall clock said eleven thirty – my cake would take at least another twenty minutes and then I needed to clean up. No way was I getting out of there before midnight.

 _I could stay though. I’d be able to finish up some things in the morning. Ugh, am I ready for this?? Tom wouldn’t know. Need to call Ari so she doesn’t organise a search and rescue._ It was a short-lived debate.

 

Just before I switched off the kitchen lights, I looked up at the clock again. Ten minutes before one in the morning. At that point, I was too tired to register anything but the fact that I needed a soft surface to collapse onto, and dragged myself up to the bedroom.

I stripped out of everything but my panties and grabbed the t-shirt lying on the bed. As I lay down on what used to be my side of the bed, I smelled his shampoo on the pillow, smelled his cologne on the t-shirt I was wearing.

As much as the rest of the house felt foreign to me, those smells made me feel like I was home.

Within a minute, wafting in his scent, I drifted into a deep sleep.


	11. Welcome home

_(Tom’s POV)_

I tried her cell again as soon as we landed – still no answer. Marie is one of the most cautious people I know, so I was pretty sure she wasn’t in trouble (probably fell asleep and forgot to charge her phone) but…I didn’t like it and was starting to panic a little.

Since we’d opened up the lines again, I couldn’t go one day without some form of communication – even if it was simply a text. A glance at my phone as the cab pulled up outside our house said three in the morning. As tired as I was, I anticipated a restless few hours before I’d be able to talk to her again. I didn’t care how Ari would protest, but I was calling Marie when the sun came up. I’d sleep after.

The smell of cake hit me as I walked through the front door.

A few things hit me even harder as I made my way upstairs; Marie’s coat hanging in its old spot, her keys in the little bowl next to the phone (she never used the key rack), the feint glow of the reading lamp she (always) left on in the living room…

And her sleeping form on our bed.

I was convinced that in my semi-conscious, sleep deprived state, what I was looking at must’ve be a hallucination. Hallucination or not, seeing her there was a sledgehammer to my resolve…lying on her back, one leg tucked under the other, one arm under the pillow and the other slung over her belly, in nothing but her underwear and my t-shirt.

Relief and desire washed over me.

Things had been going well, better than I dared to hope for, but as much as I wanted it, we were still far from _…that._ It was a gargantuan effort for me to behave whenever we saw each other, but I would rather die of frustration than rush her into a step she wasn’t ready to take.

I should have let her sleep. I should have dragged myself to the guest room and bolted the door. Instead, I ended up on the beside her, tracing the fading shadows under her eyes, the feint dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, her lips…trying to convince myself that her face would distract me.

She reached up to rub her nose, and jerked awake as her hand collided with mine.

“Shhh, it’s me,” I whispered, grabbing hold of her to keep her from falling off the bed. It took her a minute to adjust to the dark, to register that it really was me and not a burglar, but after a few moments she relaxed back into the mattress.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, silent (except for her trying to regulate her breathing) and staring at each other, darkness be damned. I could have stayed there till morning, just looking at her and breathing her in (she smelled like cake and her and me) were it not for the insistent thrum of her heart beating (and the firming up of something else beneath her t-shirt) giving my body other ideas.

I didn’t need light to see the questions in her eyes. The words that exited from those lips confused me though.

“You ruined my surprise.”

And instead of one of the many responses ricocheting between my ears ( _Err, I'm surprised alright. But there was another one? I_ _didn’t mean to ruin it – wasn’t counting on finding you here in my clothes, but there are no words to express how happy I am that you are here. And in my clothes. What does this mean??_ ), all that came out was:

“Sorry.”

More silence. Just the sound of two people staring at one another, close enough to share breath, the air between them thick with things unsaid, the atmosphere changing with every second that passed, from surprise to relief to reunion, to…

\---

_(Marie’s POV)_

The only things my mind immediately registered were arms caging me and a weight pressing me into the mattress.

I breathed a small sigh of relief at discovering that the arms and weight belonged to Tom (and not a burglar or axe murderer), but with that relief came few realisations; some obvious (like my location and state of undress at that moment), others not so much. I chose to ignore the obvious.

“You ruined my surprise.”

His face said otherwise. He chose to ignore the obvious too.

“Sorry.”

Both of us were silent after that. I didn’t really know what else to say (or rather, my mind was unable to formulate coherent thoughts). I didn’t even realise that I was holding onto him.

He wasn’t holding me down anymore, just leaning over me, his arms on either side still caging me, but I felt his muscles tighten beneath my fingers, the moon casting just enough light for me to see the blue of his irises disappear. His hands and lips stayed still, caressing me with nothing more than his gaze.

His desire coursed through his body and sat in his eyes. And at that moment, his restraint was gasoline poured over the desire within me that I had been trying to contain for weeks.

I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him to me and covered his lips with mine, pouring all the longing of the past few months into the kiss, and before I knew it his tongue was in my mouth and his hand on the skin of my belly, pressing me into the bed, those two touches somehow waking up every other part of me. No matter how much I’d told myself that I wasn’t ready, that this would impede the progress we had been making, in that moment I was exactly where I wanted to be, in his arms.

Tom broke away, just far enough for him to brace himself over me, one arm keeping him from squashing me, his other hand cupping the side of my face, stroking my bottom lip with his thumb and looking at me. My hands slid down from his hair, coming to rest on his chest. I wanted nothing more than to peel him out of his clothes, and again, I marveled at his ability to read my thoughts as he took both of my hands in his, pulled me up into a sitting position, and placed them on the top button of his shirt.

He watched me as I undressed him, and the vestiges of my uncertainty fell away with every layer I removed, until the only things separating us were clothes I was wearing. He kissed me again, slow and yet insistent at the same time, his hands snaking up over my ribs, taking the fabric of his tee with, his lips leaving mine only for the second it took to pull it over my head.

Something was different this time. The urgency in the way his hands clutched at my thighs, the tip of his nose ghosting over my collarbones, the intensity of his kisses…

I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was in love with my husband, and he with me, and we were both exactly where we wanted to be. And as he pushed me back into the pillow, the look on his face and the words that followed (ironic though they may have been, coming from him in this instance) would have obliterated any lingering doubts I may have had.

_“Welcome home, darling.”_


	12. Epilogue

_Tom walked in to a mixture of singing and humming, the accompanying cinnamon smell directing him towards the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, and surveyed the scene in front of him: two covered dishes on the kitchen bar, cinnamon rolls on the cooling rack beside it, and Marie at the sink._

_It's been a year since he came home and found her asleep in their bed, and every day since then he's said a silent prayer of thanks that they were able to find their way back to each other, that he was able to come home to her. He lingered against the door jamb and leisurely looked at his wife... She was singularly beautiful...whether draped in a ball gown, dressed for work, or as she was now, barefoot in yoga pants and one of his t-shirts (which was hanging off her one shoulder), hair messily pulled up, swaying to the music coming from the little black buds in her ears._

_He came up quietly behind her, the tip of his nose ghosting over the chestnut waves on top of her head before he pressed his lips gently on her bare shoulder. She dropped the dish rag the second his lips touched her skin, and smiling, leaned back into him, pulling one bud out of her ear and threading her hand through the hair at the back of his head as his hands snaked around her._

_"Hi." Tom couldn't see her face, but he heard her smile._

_"Hey, darling," he said._

_She giggled at the grumble from his stomach. "Hungry?"_

For you, always,  _he thought, but nodded the affirmative._

_"Good," she smiled. "I made your favourite. Just give me a minute to warm it up."_

_"Mm-hmm," he murmured, trailing kisses from her shoulder up the side of her neck, smoothing his hands over her to join at the soft swell of her belly. She'd filled out since she came home, a fact he was immensely grateful for. "I like this," he said, gently squeezing her hips. "I like that there's more of you."_

_"I'm happy to hear that," she replied, laughing. "There's going to be a lot more of me soon._

_"Hmm?" His forehead creased in question, as Marie turned in his arms. Without breaking eye contact, she reached back and took one of his hands from where they were linked behind her and placed it on her belly. The ripple under his fingertips turned confusion into clarity, which almost immediately turned into astonished disbelief._

_"She'll be here in four months."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end."  
> This was a struggle to write - partially because I am a perfectionist, partially because I didn't want to say good-bye to Tom and Marie. And the ending may be as cliche as can be...but that's not necessarily a bad thing.
> 
> For those of you who stuck through till the end, your time, kudos and comments mean more to me than you'll ever know, and more than I'll ever be able to express. I am so grateful for how you've invested in this. You guys are the reason I write. Thank you

**Author's Note:**

> As is usual for me, this was born in a dream. And is kind of evolving into....whatever this is.  
> Thank you to all who took the time to read and who left kudos. Comments, questions and suggestions are welcome.


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